


through the eyes of orion

by apricae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Stargazing, only fluff here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-09 17:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricae/pseuds/apricae
Summary: five times dr. siebren de kuiper did not kiss tekhartha mondatta, and one time he did.





	through the eyes of orion

**Author's Note:**

> for gabe. <3

1 — when they first met

It’s all promotional, really. The Hague will look good with the Shambali leader on their guest list - an omnic of high standing, no matter how humbly he presents himself. A dinner hosted by professors of the university, invitees free to explore the campus during the day. 

Tekhartha Mondatta is taller than he appears in the holovids. He wears robes that make him look somehow larger than life, even if he only barely comes up to Siebren’s shoulder; he carries himself with such dignity that Siebren has to resist the urge to bow rather than shake hands. The action feels slightly blasphemous, even if the omnic initiates. 

“I assume you’re here for the tour? I’m Dr. de Kuiper,” he adds politely, finding himself smiling. 

“A pleasure. And yes, I am - will you guide me? I fear that I may become more lost than is beneficial.”

They fall into step beside each other, passing through the entry hall and into corridors where their footfalls echo.

“Is being lost ever beneficial?”

“Being lost sometimes means finding things you did not know you were looking for,” replies the Tekhartha serenely, and Siebren feels the oddest urge to reach out and touch him.

* * *

2 — on what isn't a date

“Ah. Luck strikes me! My cavalier is someone I already know.”

Siebren looks up from his intricately folded napkin and sees Tekhartha Mondatta taking a seat across from him, as unbothered here as he had been walking the reading halls and classrooms and labs of the university. How someone manages to consistently look so untouchable is beyond Siebren’s understanding. 

Mondatta does not, of course, eat, but he watches with something that Siebren thinks is interest - he does not read omnic expressions well, yet. There are so few at the Hague.

They end up talking, elegant quips and turns of phrase gliding like wine down his throat, warming him in a way he would not (yet) like to think about.

Mingling after dinner, he spots the monk in conversation with a gaggle of diplomats; he’s been caught staring before he knows it, and Mondatta approaches with his signature patient stride. 

“How impolite of me to overlook you, Dr. de Kuiper.”

“Not at all,” says Siebren before he can think - how does this man keep catching him unawares? - and gestures vaguely with his glass. 

“I am only happy to see that you enjoy the party.”

“I am… Not much of a party person,” answers Mondatta. Then he turns what can only be described as bashful. “Would I be terribly impolite again if I asked you to, ah, speak with me further? I find that I tire of small talk.”

Siebren recovers from nearly swallowing his tongue, and nods. 

“Of course.”

* * *

  
3 — after a rousing speech

Mondatta comes back to the Hague a month and two weeks after the dinner party. This time, it is to hold a passionate plea for equal rights in the concert hall. His voice needs no loudspeaker; it rings out clearer and firmer than ever. 

Siebren watches because it would be a shame to miss out on Tekhartha Mondatta speaking live. At least, he tries to tell himself so.

He looks different, up there. He shines, dedication and spotlights casting him as a saint in a painting from centuries ago. Less a _ someone _ and more an _ idea _, once again larger than life and greater than personhood. It makes him sad, and proud, when he has no reason to be either. 

“You were fantastic,” he tells him after.

“Was I? Hm, at least _ someone _ found enjoyment in my words.”

Mondatta’s voice sounds like he is smiling, but it is bitter in a way that leaves a bad taste in Siebren’s mouth.

“You’re joking,” says Siebren. “You had us all enraptured.”

It is the first time he hears Mondatta laugh. It is soft, and tapers off into chuckles, but it’s real and true. Siebren feels again that pull, the urge to do something ridiculous and rude and affectionate. It gets lost on its way from his brain to his body, and what comes out of him instead is:

“Come to the planetarium with me? Some day. I’d like to show you.”

The omnic pauses, and Siebren feels himself falter. His cheeks burn. He opens his mouth and shuts it again, opting instead to clench his hands tight behind his back. 

Mondatta nods his agreement, and Siebren very nearly does yet another ridiculous thing before being swept up by the crowd.

* * *

  


4 — on what is a date

“That-“ 

Siebren adjusts his grip on the holopad, tapping it idly to highlight a section of the simulated night sky above their heads. 

Mondatta’s lights are dimmed as if in respect to the stars, whose glow illuminates him so magnificently. It’s late, and the lab is closed long ago, but what is a special key card for if not whisking away the Tekhartha to see the observatory? 

This place cares not for social rules or clouded nights; it is pure, in a way. It never changes.

Mondatta’s obvious admiration as he stands, eyes to the sky, beneath the observatory’s massive domed ceiling is humbling.

“That is Rigel. Orion’s, ah, left knee?”

The omnic makes an odd, contemplative noise, and he glances over. The light bounces off of his polished metal. _ Beautiful _.

“You put yourself in his shoes,” says Mondatta. “You describe him facing from your own perspective. My right, your left.”

He had hardly realised. 

“_ Why _?”

Siebren has no answer, but something in his chest is tight and bright and expanding.

* * *

5 — in a cheap self-driving taxi

The seats are slightly sticky, and the cloying smell of expensive drinks hangs in the air. Siebren watches Mondatta watch the streets pass by, and he wonders. 

The universe is random. Chaos begets chaos, the rule of coincidence reigns; and yet. He is here, now, and lucky enough to have drawn the lot of being the central nervous system observing Tekhartha Mondatta lit now in warm hues from outside of the self-driving taxi.

It is what one may call a blessing.

They are headed to Siebren’s apartment. A unanimous decision, after leaving the planetarium in companionable quiet. He does not know what he will do when they get there. It isn’t like he can ask Mondatta if he wants a drink.

“Do you have a home? A city that you love? Or maybe the mountains,” he asks, more to fill the silence than anything else. 

“Yes and no. I try not to hold too many worldly attachments.”

“Ah. Of course-“

“I only hold attachment to the _ people _ I share the world with.”

“…I see.”

They sit the rest of the ride in silence.

* * *

  


6 — when enough is enough

“I’ve been working on this part of the calculations for two weeks,” he laments, showing Mondatta the holopad with one hand and nursing a glass with his other. “But every time I run it through the simulations, it just- Breaks!”

They have inched close on the sofa, sharing first in small talk and then digressing, one rabbit hole after another happily plunged into. Conversation flows so easily when they’re alone, philosophy turned over in their talk like smooth stones on the beach just as easily as they have delved through science and astronomy. 

The clock on the holopad passes 03:30.

“I think I will have to start over, perhaps from a new angle-“

“You have forgotten to account for the gravitational pull of your own body,” says Mondatta, leaning further over the holopad. “It is minor, but since this is so fine-tuned, I assume it would-“

  


“You’re brilliant,” Siebren interrupts, awe colouring his tone and his face, “You’re so _ brilliant _.”

  


Mondatta comes so easily into his arms when Siebren first pulls, without aim or goal, pressing his mouth to solid metal. Again, and again, all other thought blown from his mind when he feels the buzz of living machinery.

“You- I-“

Mondatta laughs, louder than he has ever heard him raise his voice. 

Their embrace is awkward, the omnic is halfway into his lap, and it is so _ right _he aches. His hands on that slender waist, free to explore the dip of it beneath the robes, free to pull close until they are chest to chest and laughing still, giddy like teenagers sharing their very first kiss.

  


“Stay the night?”

“I would love to.”


End file.
